


A Brief History of Merlin

by Drag0nst0rm



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV), Robin Hood (Traditional), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hogwarts Founders Era, Merlin was Busy, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-16 03:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 8,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8085370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: Arthur is dead, but Merlin can't just sit around and sulk about it. From Camelot to Sherwood to Hogwarts to the modern world, Merlin is nothing if not busy. It helps keep his mind off things as he waits for Albion to finally need his king once more. (A series of oneshots that begin a couple of weeks after Arthur's death and end at his return.)





	1. Camelot, Two Weeks After Arthur's Death

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing you recognize.
> 
> This starts at a fairly typical post-Camlann place. From there . . . Well, heed the tags.

The most powerful sorcerer ever to walk the earth trudged unnoticed into the citadel. He had united five kingdoms. He had killed Morgana.

He had failed Arthur.

How many dozens of times had he saved him? How many times had he offered his life in exchange? To fail one time in a hundred was no shame.

Except, of course, when a man's life had been at stake. Except when looking back he could see where it all went wrong. How he could have saved him.

How could he face Gaius? How could he face Gwen?

At least he wouldn't have to break the news in person. He had done that through a messenger, too much of a coward to do it himself.

"Merlin!"

He turned too slowly. Gwen was already there, pulling him into a hug that wasn't quite befitting the dignity of a queen. He couldn't bring himself to pull away, though. Especially when she was crying like this.

"I was so afraid you wouldn't come back," she whispered. "And I couldn't bear to lose anyone else, I just couldn't." She straightened, wiping the tears from her eyes.

He wasn't entirely free yet. The hard metal of chain mail knocked into him from behind.

"I told you he'd come, my lady," Leon said. "Percival, go tell Gaius."

Hot guilt at such a warm welcome welled up quickly. "Gwen, I'm so sorry - "

"You did your best. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"You don't understand! I have magic!" After keeping the words in for so long, it was both a relief and a horror to say it.

Her reaction wasn't what he expected. "I know. Gaius told me. He just hinted at first, but when we got your note . . . " A small tremulous smile managed to form. It was nothing like her old grin, but it was a start. "When I thought about it, I wasn't even surprised. The lamia had already made me wonder." Her smile trembled a bit at the memory, but it held. "Come with me. There're some things we need to talk about."

He stared at her. "Magic's outlawed," he said, not quite sure why he was reminding her of the fact.

"That's one of the things we need to talk about. I've had two weeks to think about this, and Gaius has told me about all the things you've done - yes, all, so don't go thinking you can scare me off with a dragon or something - and I've decided we're going to have to change that. The knights are all behind me, but I need your help." She started walking towards the palace.

Merlin followed, caught between a nightmare and a dream. "And the other?"

She paused inside the doorway and took a deep breath. "I wasn't going to tell anyone until he came home. He should have been the first to know."

He didn't have to ask who she meant to know it was Arthur. "Know what?"

Tears glimmered in her eyes, but her smile seemed a bit more genuine now. "I'm pregnant."


	2. Camelot, Eight Months Later

The very first royal warlock to grace the Pendragon court since the days before the Great Purge paced in front of an oak door. He wasn't alone. Percival and Leon paced too, each as nervous as though their own child was coming into the world.

They had failed the father. They would not fail the son.

Merlin knew it would be a son, but he wasn't sure the knights believed him. They still weren't used to thinking of him as anything other than Arthur's servant.

A wail cut through the air. The men froze as the door creaked open.

"They can come in," said a tired voice.

The knights shuffled in, chain mail clinking. Merlin grinned before he thought about it.

It was the first time he had smiled since Arthur's death. How could something feel so wrong and so right at the same time?

 _But then,_ he thought as he made his way in, _Arthur's probably smiling right now too, if he can see this._ And somehow Merlin thought he could.

Gwen was clutching a little bundle swaddled in blankets. She smiled. There was still sadness behind it, but there was joy too. "Long live Prince Elyan."

"Long live Prince Elyan!" the knights echoed.

Merlin jumped as the bells began to ring. But for once, they tolled no warning. Only joy that the future was born.


	3. Camelot, Nine Years Later

Of the many titles the great sorcerer Emrys was granted, his favorite by far was undoubtedly Uncle Merlin. Which was why, when all the rest of us the court was out there dancing in celebration of the successful negotiations with Nemeth, he was hiding behind a curtain with a nine year old boy who was supposed to have been in bed an hour ago.

Instead, His Royal Highness Prince Elyan was giggling as his Uncle sent cakes from the refreshment table bobbing through the air towards their hiding place. Merlin winced as one nearly crashed into Sir Leon.

If Leon noticed, he gave no sign. He was too busy laughing at Percival's attempt to ask Lady Ariana to dance with him. Much to everyone's surprise, particularly Percival's, she said yes.

At last the cakes made it safely to their new home. Elyan leaned back as he took a big bite. Even chocolate couldn't hide his yawns for long, though. He leaned his head back onto his uncle's arm. "Tell me a story."

"What's the magic word?"

"O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes," he said promptly.

Merlin coughed. "Er, the other magic word. The one your mother taught you."

"Oh. Please?"

"Right. And do me a favor and don't tell her about those other ones, alright? I'm not sure how she would feel about you meeting dragons."

"But Aithusa's nice!"

Aithusa was nice. It wasn't her fault she had caused all that trouble ten years ago. In dragon terms, she'd basically been a toddler. The knights might not see it that way though, and that's what he told Elyan. "Now, what should I tell you about? The three little dragons and the big bad purge? Little red druid hood? King Brute?" He was just teasing Elyan. There was only one kind of story he ever wanted to hear.

"Tell me about Daddy!"

Merlin grinned. "Let's see. Did I ever tell you about the day we met? He tried to take my head off with a mace."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragon spell from MerlinWiki.


	4. Camelot, Twenty Years Later

Being adviser to the king was a great honor. It just stung when so recently he'd been adviser to the queen.

Gwen would come back, he reminded himself. And Elyan had all the makings of a great king. But the pain was still there, and there was no Gaius or Mother to comfort him. Just like there was no Kilgharrah, no Freya, no Lancelot, and no Gwaine.

Aithusa was still here. So was Percival and his soon to be knighted son. So was Leon.

Speaking of Leon, what was he doing in what Merlin still thought of as Gaius's chambers? He sat slumped on the bench by the table, head in his hands. He looked up as Merlin entered. "Merlin. Still the same after all these years."

Merlin laid his bag down next to the skull he referred to fondly as Billy. Where was this going? It was true he hadn't aged much, except around the eyes. He could take any form he wished to by this point, but he preferred his twenty-five year old self. This way when Arthur came back, he would recognize him.

"You haven't changed too much yourself," he pointed out. Not much at all, really. He frowned. Why hadn't he noticed before?

"I turned sixty today," Leon informed him. "Sixty, and not a gray hair to show for it. I don't look a day over thirty-five."

"Congratulations?" Merlin hazarded.

Leon laughed a bit bitterly. "The other knights are looking at me like I'm about to sprout two heads. Only Percival's the same. I took an arrow to the chest when bandits attacked on the last patrol. Yet here I sit. The rest weren't so lucky. Why?"

An old memory bubbled to the surface. A cup. A cave full of druids. Leon stumbling in to report to Uther. A gift that only a dragon's blade could take away.

Of course. How obvious in hindsight.

It was probably selfish of him to feel the excitement bubbling up in his chest, but he couldn't help it. He'd have a friend to watch with him through the years. He turned to Leon.

"I think you might be immortal."


	5. Interlude

_Once upon a time, three little dragons were hatched from their eggs by a dragonlord. The dragonlord warned them to stay away from people because great monsters in blood red cloaks would try and hurt them. Screams erupted from the night, and men in shining mail came and killed the dragonlord. The three little dragons fled and went and sought caves for themselves._

_The first little dragon found a beautiful cave glittering with treasure. She flew inside and curled up on the gold._

_"It's a trap!" the oldest little dragon cried._

_But the little dragon didn't listen. She was still on the gold when a great net fell from the ceiling and trapped her. The great monster Uther appeared from the shadows and cut her head off._

_The remaining two dragons flew on. The next little dragon found a cave near hot springs and lots of deer. "It's perfect," he said and settled in._

_"It's too close to a city," the oldest little dragon argued._

_But the little dragon didn't listen. He gorged himself on deer and fell asleep. The other little dragon couldn't wake him when the great monster Uther came and chopped his head off._

_The remaining little dragon flew far, far away from Camelot and was never seen again. It is to be presumed that he lived for a long time after, but not very happily, because he was very lonely and felt terribly guilty for not saving the others._

Anna looked up at her uncle who was watching her expectantly.

"That was a terrible bedtime story," she said flatly.

"But it's realistic! Would you have preferred 'Little Red Druid Hood'?"

"I get eaten in that one!"

"It's a cautionary tale!"

"Tell me about Emrys. I like that one."

"I tell that one every night!"

Anna threatened to cry.

"All right, all right, I'm telling it! Soon, not very far in the future, a golden age will come. Emrys will change the Once and Future King's mind, and magic will be everywhere."

"And he'll give us all candy to make reparations for the past twenty years," Anna added sleepily. She said 'reparations' carefully, like she'd been practicing it.

Her uncle hesitated. "I don't think the prophecy actually says that."

"Mama says I'm a seer. I'm adding it in."

It was easier not to argue with her.


	6. England, mid 1100s

The last of the great dragonlords, he who commanded with a single breath, slayer of a thousand wyverns, went flying off his horse into the mud.

"Really?" he yelled. " _Really?_ You charge a whole flock of wyverns, you make friends with a dragon, and you rear because of one little snake?"

The horse looked down at him and blinked lazily. The snake slithered off.

Snakes scaring horses. That brought back memories. He'd used that trick on Morgana. She'd used it to kidnap Gwen.

This time, however, the snake was just a snake. He muttered a spell to clean off the mud.

Where was Leon? He had promised to meet Merlin at noon, and it was already a little past. He moved into the shade of the trees beside the dusty road to wait. The horse followed him.

He sat under an enormous oak and yawned. It had been a long ride.

Next thing he knew, Leon was shaking him.

"Leon! Where were you?" It was still strange to see him without a Camelot red cloak, even after all this time.

Leon grinned. "Convincing some bandits I wasn't worth the trouble. Besides, you haven't got much room to talk. How long's it been? Ten years? And here you told me you'd be back in a month. Don't tell me those French dragons gave you that much trouble."

Camelot - no, wait, they called it England now - England might have only one dragon it could still lay claim to, but Europe had revealed itself to be a different story. He'd found upwards of twenty on the continent and heard rumors of others, if he'd dared spend more time away from Came-England to find them. If only Kilgharrah had lived to see it.

Unfortunately, he did appear to truly be the last of the dragonlords, and not all the dragons were friendly. His services had been much in demand.

There had been a lot of dragons, but not many young ones. After all, only a dragonlord could call one forth from an egg. He'd performed that service too, but there hadn't been as many eggs as he would've liked.

Still, he had been privileged to call forth three of Aithusa's. She had finally found love after all these years. The last few years of Merlin's trip had been spent helping make sure her hatchlings didn't get out of hand. He remembered Aithusa's early years all too well.

He'd been sorry to leave her behind, but they'd meet again. He was sure of it.

He told Leon most of the tale, but left out the bit about seeing her again. Leon had never quite gotten over the old prejudice.

"So, how are things here?"

Leon's face promised bad news. "The king is dead. His son's taken the crown, but he's too much like Uther. He exiled his sister from the court and sent her to Loxley for daring to love someone he didn't approve of. We could've used you here, Merlin."

Well, that was some lovely news to welcome him home with. He shook his head. "He wouldn't have listened to me. He never does." Perhaps he had a little bit of Arthur in him after all. "Come on, then. We'd best be going."

"To London?"

"To Loxley."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on history: I chose this time period because it would make Robin a contemporary of King Richard the Lionheart, as legends in the 16th century began to paint him as - at least according to Wikipedia.
> 
> There was a king who was crowned in the mid 1100s. Henry II took the throne in December of 1154. His reign is somewhat controversial, and I know next to nothing about it, so all opinions expressed above are not meant to be historical. Additionally, he didn't have a sister to banish in the first place. 
> 
> This chapter, like the rest of the fic, may make a few brief nods to history, but that's it. All information is from Wikipedia, and if I have to choose between plot and accuracy . . .
> 
> Well, how many people know that much about Henry the Second anyway?
> 
> (English history majors, please don't answer that.)


	7. Sherwood Forest, 1190

The forest had grown since he had traveled here with Arthur. The name had changed too. But the lake was the same, and the isle untouched since the day he'd laid King Elyan's daughter there. None of the rulers after her had been worthy of the honor.

"What ho! A wealthy traveler weighed down with worldly goods! Shall we lighten his load, gentlemen?" a cheerful voice asked.

Merlin turned, raising an eyebrow. "Surely you wouldn't attack a helpless old man like me, Robin?"

"Helpless my foot, old man," Robin laughed, swinging down out of the trees with a few of his men. "I still haven't forgotten that lesson you taught me last year, and I've never seen someone take down so many of the sheriff's men single-handedly."

"I wouldn't have had to if you stopped to think once in a while," Merlin grumbled with no real venom. Grumbling just sort of came naturally when he was his elderly self.

Robin just laughed again and slapped him on the back. "Come on Tuck, we're not so bad. Not since Marian's joined us at least. And we know we've got you to keep us out of real trouble."

Yes, they did, even if they didn't know who "Tuck" really was. They had him, and they always would, because Robin was far more Arthur's heir than the prince who was currently plotting to steal the throne. Prince John raised taxes. Robin . . . redistributed them. The prince believed he had the right to rule. Robin believed that all men were equals. Merlin could see echoes of the round table far more clearly in the rustic scene around a camp fire than in the vaulting halls of London.

Leon agreed with him. He went by Will Scarlet now. The name Leon was out of style.

Robin interrupted his thoughts. "A new man's joined the band."

"Oh?"

"We call him Little John. There he is now."

It was like seeing Percival rise from the grave. "Little John?" he repeated doubtfully. "Yes, I see what you mean."


	8. Nottingham, 1189

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief jump back in time to Robin and Merlin's meeting.

Dragoon the Great had nearly endless potential, but his strengths did not include sleeping on the cold hard ground or running pell mell through a forest. Merlin would need a different form for this stage of his life.

He would be older, yes, but not eighty. Fifty would do. A few strands of gray creeping through both hair and beard, lean muscle under weathered skin . . . He looked a great deal like Balinor actually. Too much like.

He added a rotund stomach and thickened his arms. People would underestimate him, he reasoned. It would be better this way.

Right.

Leon had already joined the band and been busy laying breadcrumbs to lead Robin to Merlin - figuratively, of course. Although there had been that one time, when they were facing that witch in the Orkneys -

Focus.

The dogs chained outside were barking up a storm and pulling on their leashes. There was a story behind them too, but Merlin didn't have time to reminisce about it. Instead he grabbed the staff he'd gotten from Rhiannon - Come to think of it, was there anything he owned that _didn't_ have a story behind it?

He'd only purchased his robes a week ago, but seeing as he'd been mistaken for a man of the church and been subsequently dragged into performing a marriage ceremony that had been surrounded by enough chaos to make Camelot seem sane, he didn't think they qualified.

"I hate my life," he grumbled, pushing his way out the door.

A golden haired man with laugh lines around his mouth but anger and offended dignity clouding blue eyes stood in the creek outside. One of the dogs had knocked him in.

Merlin's breath was knocked away.

 _Arthur?_ he mouthed.

No. Robin of the Hood. Arthur had been a swordsman, not a bowman, and the difference in their physique showed. It was only a passing resemblance, nothing more.

But Robin was shouting at him over some perceived offense, and Merlin couldn't quite resist the urge to toss him a spare staff from behind the door.

"If you've got something to say, say it with this, as you're evidently incapable of forming anything but gibberish with that tongue of yours."

Robin snatched it out of the air and sprang from the creek, handling the staff like he knew what to do with it. He was younger, his body fitter, but Merlin had been dueling with staffs ever since Arthur had demanded he learn at least one weapon. He'd kept in practice. Of course he had.

They whirled, wood smacking wood and occasionally flesh with bruising force. He felt very much like Dragoon, whacking the knights with a staff, or like he had on that very first day, facing Arthur with the maces.

He didn't cheat this time. He didn't have to.

The butt of his weapon knocked into Robin's stomach, knocking the air out of him. He swung it around until it hit him in the leg. He fell, and Merlin moved it threateningly over his stomach again.

"Do you yield?"

Arth- No, Robin, he had to stop thinking it was Arthur, laughed merrily. "I yield. I confess, you've knocked the reason for my wrath right out of my head. You're a better man with this than I'll ever be." He cast the pole aside and ruefully reached for a hand up. Merlin took it. "Might I know your name?"

Merlin. Emrys. Dragoon. Dolma, even.

"Tuck," he said. That was what he'd gone by at that wedding.

"You fight well, especially for a man of the church."

Merlin groaned and raised the pole threateningly. "I swear, if you've come to me about a wedding, I will smack you back into the creek. I still haven't recovered from that last one."

Robin laughed again. It came naturally to him, his whole being overflowing with an inborn joy and mirth. "You'll have to tell me that tale, friend. My friends have recovered some venison. Would you care to join us in eating it?"

"All right," he agreed readily. "So long as Will Scarlet isn't the one to cook it."

"You know him?" Robin's eyes twinkled.

"I let him cook for me once. Just once."

"He's not that bad. It can be almost enjoyable, sometimes."

"What's not to like about a near death experience?"

Robin's grin had something sharp in it. "Exactly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to Wikipedia, Friar Tuck is actually an anachronism. Friars were not around during Richard I's rule. Who knew?
> 
> The legend of Robin Hood unfortunately doesn't include any wizardly characters. Maid Marian might have had roots in being the lady of May Day and thus had some slightly "supernatural" attributes, but there's no way I'm casting Merlin as Maid Marian. No. Way.
> 
> If you've ever read the Tales of Rowan Hood, there is a powerful magic user in there named Celestine who had a daughter with Robin named Rowan.
> 
> That would be all kinds of awkward.
> 
> There aren't even many healers. There is a prioress, but she's a) treacherous and b) once again, female. If I remember correctly, in at least one version, possibly Howard Pyle's, she tells some of Robin's men that a sorcerer's cursed Robin in order to get them out of the way. Unfortunately, said sorcerer does not actually exist, and the men just end up killing some poor random dude.
> 
> You see the problem.
> 
> Merlin could have just been one of the merry men, lurking in the background and fixing things behind the scenes, but that position would have been similar to if he'd been one of Arthur's knights. I wanted something that would make him stand out, something that set him apart from ordinary, everyday fighter. (And isn't it all kinds of ironic that he's now one of the bandits plaguing the hunting noblemen?)
> 
> I could have made him Alan-a-Dale, wandering minstrel. Many fanfictions portray Merlin as musical.
> 
> But Alan-a-Dale's whole story revolves around a sweetheart he wants to marry.
> 
> Plus, I like that a fight was his introduction to Robin, at least as a grown man. He's been watching over him for years in a different form.
> 
> So there's my reasoning, on the off chance anyone cares. For the record, Merlin is not, and does not claim to be, an actual man of the church, as that would introduce a whole other set of problems I really don't want to get into.


	9. Sherwood Forest, 1191

Merlin crouched beside Leon in the thick undergrowth. The day was hot and sticky, and his robe was hotter than he would have preferred. "How's it feel to be on the other side of the ambush, Sir Knight?" he muttered.

"Shut up, Merlin," Leon said, but his lips twitched. "We have come a long way, haven't we?"

A crow cawed.

"That's my signal." Merlin brushed himself off and made his way onto the road. Someone must be coming. He leaned on his staff and did his best to look weary and harmless.

Horses came thundering down the hill. The men wore the sheriff's colors. And what do you know - The sheriff himself was in the lead.

He waved his staff to get attention, choking on the dust they'd stirred up. "Wait! Help!"

The sheriff reluctantly turned his horse towards him. "What is it?" he asked, as if the words were distasteful.

"Robbers, milord," he said. "Dressed all in green. Archers, the lot of them. They carried off my horse and everything on it."

"Robin Hood," the sheriff hissed.

Merlin widened his eyes. "Do you really think so, milord?"

"Where did they go?" he demanded.

"I - I don't know, I - "

The sheriff slapped him, his ring cutting into Merlin's cheek. Merlin glared at him reproachfully.

"That was uncalled for," Robin said mildly.

The sheriff spun. So did the rest of his men. Robin and his band had surrounded them, bows aimed and ready to fire.

"You!"

"Me," Robin agreed. "I'm surprised you fell for it this time. You should know I don't attack just anyone by now."

The sheriff was glaring at him fiercely. "One of your men, is he?"

Robin's mouth twitched. "More or less."

What was _that_ about?

"Take him," the sheriff ordered.

Everyone sprang into motion. Robin, arrows flying true as ever, Little John watching his back and defending it with pure brute force, Leon watching for Merlin, who was sliding between the sheriff's men like greased lightning, making men stumble and weapons fly out of grips with quick flashes of his eyes, rapping knuckles and hitting stomachs with his staff. He even sent a tree branch flying for old times' sake.

They won, naturally, and marched the sheriff's men off to a "feast". Merlin stayed behind for a moment, looking mournfully at a dagger he'd been forced to pull at the last second. One of his spells had caught it by mistake and it was irreparably ruined.

"Queen Mab gave that to me," he complained to Leon.

"Did she?" Robin asked with amusement.

Merlin jumped. "Robin! Why aren't you with the others? Where's Will?"

"I sent him on." Robin looked at him thoughtfully.

"Oh. Um, about that - It was nothing. Inside joke."

Robin raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

" . . . Yes?" He swallowed hard.

"You're really not one of mine, are you?"

His heart twisted. "I would never betray you, Robin. You know that."

"Oh, I do," Robin reassured him. "That's not what I meant. You're loyal to the band, but . . . Someone else comes first, don't they? Your king."

"I've never even met Richard."

"He's not your king," Robin pointed out. He clapped Merlin on the back. "I've no quarrel with you, Tuck. You fight well, cook better, and tell good stories. You're a good fighter, good man, and a good friend."

"But?"

Robin grinned. "But you also talk in your sleep. Come on, let's go eat . . . Merlin."


	10. Nottingham, 1192

Merlin pushed his way through the crowd. The crowd pushed back. Everyone wanted a front row space today. The whole street stank of sewage and filth. After the clear air of the forest, it was suffocating. Camelot hadn't smelled like this, had it? He couldn't remember. And people had bathed more, surely. Arthur had, at the very least. His memory of sore muscles from hauling buckets of water hadn't faded a bit.

And this . . . This he remembered perfectly. The morbid excitement. The craning necks. The stifled fear. The interest.

Worse than the interest, the occasional bored yawn.

Methods of execution might change, but people never did.

He tried to get a glimpse of the others, but the crowd was too thick. He pushed on.

There was no stake at least and no axe. It was to be a hanging this time. Those had been rare, but not unheard of, in Camelot. It was a fate reserved for traitors, and most traitors had never made it to the stage. They'd fallen in battle.

Mostly to Merlin, really, but that counted as battle.

A cart rumbled through the street. Guards pushed the crowd aside, eyeing everyone suspiciously, and for good reason. The man in the cage had already been the focus of two rescue attempts.

Rotten fruit, vegetables, and other, less palatable things, flew through the air. It wasn't personal. It was just the way things were done. A bit of Friday entertainment.

Merlin winced in commiseration. He remembered the slimy feel from his time in the stocks. It took forever to get the stench out.

Finally, he made his way to the front. The guards unlocked the cage and dragged the prisoner out, still fighting.

 

_"What's happened?"_

_For once, Robin looked grim. "Guy of Gisborne happened. He nearly killed me, and he captured Little John. They mean to hang him."_

_"That's ambitious of them. Where do you imagine they'll find a rope thick enough?"_

 

They'd found one. Now to see if he'd hang from it.

Some official was droning on, listing his crimes. Little John scanned the crowd for a friendly face and evidently found none. His shoulders sagged.

"Any last words?"

Little John evidently found one face worth looking at. His face twisted into something very close to hatred. "Guy of Gisborne," he snarled. "May you die a death as slow and painful as you deserve and may your tongue rot and fall out for telling such lies when you described how Robin of Loxley, a man a hundred times your better, died." He spat. "That's my hanged man's curse, and may you rot upon it."

The guards poked him with their spears to get him moving. The rope was fastened around his neck. Little John stared straight ahead at the man he had cursed, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

 

_Robin had continued to call Merlin "Tuck" all but that one time. He'd never brought the topic up again and seemed perfectly happy to leave things as they were._

_Merlin might have thought he'd imagined it if Robin hadn't pulled him aside after their latest attempt at freeing the largest of the Merry Men had failed._

_"We have to be there at the hanging to stop it. It's our last chance."_

_"There isn't a man, woman, or child in Nottingham who doesn't know your face, Robin."_

_"I know. Can you fix that? Not just for me, but for all my men?"_

 

The crowd chanted. The chant started slow and then picked up speed and wildness until it was a bloodthirsty pagan yowl. Little John considered to stare Guy of Gisbourne down, but his eyes had narrowed. Guy was infamous for his close, brutal murders. Why would such a man carry a bow?

The executioner kicked the chair out from under him.

Little John fell.

 

_He could, of course he could, but he'd prefer not to reveal the full extent of his powers._

_"Will you be wearing disguises?"_

_"Of course. I just worry that won't be enough."_

_"Get your men in disguises. I'll take care of the rest. Oh, and Robin?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Do me a favor. Tell Will he has to wear this." He tossed him something they'd liberated from the last merchant to come through._

_Robin grinned._

 

The bow was drawn, the arrow nocked and released in seconds. It whizzed through the air and caught the rope perfectly.

What was Robin known for, after all, if not perfect shots?

Little John fell back to the platform, noose still around his neck, and jumped off the stage into the crowd.

Merlin muttered a spell, confusing those around them, and disguising the outlaw. Two of the other men grabbed him by the elbows and started leading him away. Others attacked the sheriff's men and added to the confusion.

"Over here! He's here!" Leon jumped on top of a bunch of crates and pointed in the opposite direction. The glamour covered him perfectly, but Merlin, as the caster, could see right through it. He caught sight of Merlin and shot him an exasperated look.

Merlin grinned. He supposed Leon had the right to shoot as many looks as he wanted.

Leon was, after all, wearing a dress.


	11. Sherwood Forest, 1195

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters today to apologize for the wait.

Merlin prepared dinner in his small hut. He stayed with Robin and his men, mostly, but Camlann's anniversary was fast approaching, and he preferred to be alone for now. Leon understood and had made his excuses so far as they were necessary. No one thought to much of it; Alan-a-Dale wandered in and out of camp at his leisure, and Little John frequently went in search of adventure, not to mention Robin. If Tuck had some errand to run, he was entitled to run it.

The sheriff was getting uncomfortably close to the camp. The Merry Men didn't leave many tracks, and Merlin hid what few traces they left, and the camp was hidden by all means mortals or magic could devise, but still the sheriff came. Battle had been joined in Sherwood just last week. It had been bad timing. Winter was fast approaching and there had been a chill snap in the air and little cover to hide behind.

_Thorns pressed into him as he hugged the ground, whispering spells that tripped the sheriff's men and sped the ones in green along. Branches knit together or fell at his whim. Arrows veered sharply left or pierced the wind unexpectedly well, but it still wasn't enough. It was Camlann, and men were dying - No, the Saxons were on the shore - The sidhe - Sherwood. Sherwood, Sherwood, focus, Merlin, focus -_

_"Come on, you idiot. You can do this."_

_He twisted, frantically trying to look behind him, but there was no one there. And thanks to his distraction, Leon came back to camp with a pronounced limp._

He swallowed back his tears. It would be all right. It wouldn't end like last time. It couldn't.

How could it not? something in him whispered. All men die. Their stories live on, true, but what comfort is that?

All men die.

All except him.

And Leon. Don't forget Leon.

A knock came at the door. He pulled it open without checking to see who it was. What did it matter?

It was a man in black with a deep hood over his face. He sounded educated.

"May I come in? I smelled your stew down the road, and it's been tormenting me ever since. I would be glad to pay you for some."

"Certainly." Better not to be alone this night. He stepped aside to let the stranger in. "You can me call me Tuck. And you?"

"I have taken a vow not to reveal my name until my journey is complete."

Merlin's eyes narrowed. "Have you?"

"You doubt me?" he challenged.

"The vow not at all, only your reasons for it. Where are you journeying to?"

"London."

"Filthy place," Merlin commented, stirring the stew. "Never cared much for it."

"It's the capital," the man pointed out with some private amusement coloring his voice.

"And a poor substitute for the last one," he said without thinking. He poured the stew to cover his mistake. "Here, taste this."

"It's delicious."

"Thank you."

"There seems a bit much for you to have been cooking only for yourself."

"I thought Will might stop by, but don't worry if he does. I can make more easily enough."

This caught the stranger's interest. "This wouldn't be Will Scarlet by any chance, would it?"

Merlin froze. "Will Scarlet is an outlaw in these parts as the sheriff will be happy to tell you."

"So," the stranger pointed out, "is the robed man named Tuck."

Merlin was out of his seat in an instant, his staff snatched from the wall. "Outlaws they may be, but they're a far sight more loyal to the king than any courtier in London, and you can quote that to the sheriff if you like. They're good men. Great men, some of them. Better than some kings I've known."

"But loyal to the current one?"

"Long live King Richard they say, and I guess I agree, but I wish he'd live long on these shores and not some foreign one. The king and the land should be more than passing acquaintances I say, but never in front of Robin. He takes offense to that."

"Robin Hood, famous outlaw and loyal citizen." The man laughed quietly. He still hadn't reacted to Merlin's grabbing of a weapon. "I ought to see that for myself."

"Good luck with that. There's yet to be a man who can find his way to the camp who's not welcomed there."

"Perhaps you could show me, then?"

Merlin bared his teeth. "Try and make me."

"Seeing as you're not quite as loyal as you claim they are, that might be difficult," the man admitted. He threw back his hood.

King Richard the First. In the flesh. This complicated things.

He considered him for a long moment. "You know," he said, "there was a king once, whose land was ravaged by a griffin. A man came to him who wanted badly to be a knight. He was an honest man who wished only to serve, but he wasn't from the nobility, and the laws were unfair, so he was convinced to compromise his integrity to fulfill his dream. He killed the griffin, but the king still had him banished for the lie."

The king seemed to grasp his meaning. He nodded slowly. "I am not that king."

Well, he'd show him the camp. The outlaw life was starting to wear on the men, and it was getting more dangerous every day. They needed pardons, and this was their best chance to get them.

He showed him the camp. The men impressed the king with their loyalty while he hid from them.

When he revealed himself, they got their pardons, even Tuck.

If the king noticed Will Scarlet's bow was a little late and a touch shallow, he graciously overlooked it. He could not, of course, expect outlaws to have perfected court manners.

Merlin did not bow at all. Richard was an interesting man and not the worst king he'd known.

But he was Emrys, and Richard could not throw him on a pyre if he wanted to.

There was only one man he'd bow to now.


	12. Sherwood Forest, 1207

This wasn't happening. This could not be happening. On the other hand, of course it was happening. Of course it was.

Of course Marian would die of the fever before he could get to her. Of course Richard would be out of England, and Robin would begin to think he would go mad without something to do. Of course Prince John would mock him. Of course Robin would lose his temper. Of course.

Of course he would end up an outlaw again. Of course he would return to the old forest, and old friends would gather around him. Of course there would be battles against the new sheriff, and Merlin couldn't be everywhere at once, and despite what Robin thought he had proved by leaping to the top of that rock, he wasn't as young as he once was.

Of course the arrow had caught him in the chest.

Of course Merlin would be unable to completely draw it out.

Of course one bit would be left stuck, too close to the heart to remove.

Of course it would get infected.

Of course.

There was no hope. None at all. But he understood how Little John felt - of course he did, how could he not - so he didn't object when his men took him to see the prioress.

He should have objected.

He had tried to call for Aithusa, but she was simply too far. There was nothing he could do, and now -

Robin had been bled. Robin was dying.

Gold hair glinting in the sunlight. Blue eyes fading out. Too young, far too young, no, no, _no._

There was something about Robin. Something that promised legend in everything he did. His last act was no different. One last arrow to determine his resting place. It was appropriate.

Leon looked up at him. Weary. Grieving. "Which way?"

Little John wept over Robin. So cold. So still.

"Follow me." His voice was hollow.

The spell was simple. It pulled at him, and he followed it.

This patch of forest was strangely familiar. He hadn't realized they were so close -

He froze.

The arrow had landed in the lake.

The Lake of Avalon.

If that wasn't a sign, he didn't know what was.


	13. Pontoise, France, 14th Century

It was the worst idea he'd had in two centuries, and it only took three meetings for him to know it.

Getting to know someone who wasn't immortal was just plain foolishness. Getting to know a pretty witch was reckless beyond belief.

But he and Leon had quarreled, so he was on his own for now, and how much harm could it do, really?

So he called himself Myrddin Flamel and tried to forget.

He managed it for thirty years. Managed to grey his hair and stoop his shoulders and managed to lend her little bits of strength. Managed to name his first two children perfectly ordinary names like Anna and Nicolas, even if he gave into temptation and named the others Balinor, Gwaine, and Hunith.

He also managed other things, such as resisting the urge to punch everyone who tried to offer him condolences every time he was blessed with a daughter. They were his, all his, for the precious few years he would have them, and he wouldn't stand for anyone hurting them while he could protect them.

He managed to use his magic to raise enough food for the little family. He managed to hide their magic from the villagers. He managed to keep all of them alive.

Until, of course, he couldn't.

By the time his wife finally died, Leon had long since returned and was there to grip his shoulder sympathetically at the funeral. Merlin just tried to breathe as best he could, to keep going for the people he had left.

All of them grieved, but Nicolas . . . Nicolas worried him. The boy - and he was eighteen now, no longer a boy - he had thrown himself into trying to find immortality. Not exactly a healthy pursuit.

That was his thought, until two years later when Nicholas Flamel called his entire family together and plopped a vial down on the table.

"No one else has to die," he said firmly, eyes lit with a ragged fire Merlin remembered from his days running after Arthur.

Merlin couldn't decide whether he should shatter the bottle or cling to the hope that maybe, maybe, he could keep his family, just this once.

He compromised by thunking his head against the table

He wondered if this was destiny's idea of a joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read my Merlin Headcanons, you know how I feel about Merlin and romance. I ship him with Freya, wish it could have worked out with Morgana, and if the show had put him together with Gwen, I wouldn't have complained.
> 
> None of those are feasible at this point in time, and I just can't justify bringing Freya back from the dead. So, for this story, I created an OC. In an effort to avoid falling into the Mary Sue trap, I made the strokes almost as broad as its possible to make them.
> 
> Sources for those who want to know: Wikipedia and Harry Potter wikia disagree on Nicolas's birth year, so I went with Harry Potter, since that Nicolas had magic. Pontoise was probably the town Nicolas was born in, but we're not entirely sure.


	14. Hogwarts, 1570

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third chapter for the day!

It was, he later told Leon, like looking at the best and the worst of the Pendragons all at once, not that anyone else there even knew what a Pendragon was. Wizards cared little for muggle legends.

Merlin had laughed for a week when he realized four out of the five greatest magic users of the age were descended from the Pendragon line, with the fifth being Merlin himself. Uther must have been dizzy in his grave from rolling over so much. Ironic, really, because aside from the magic issue, Salazar might have been Uther reborn. He was just as militant, only on the opposite side of the issue.

Godric, on the other hand, was like a slightly more reckless version of Arthur. Possibly because he never listened to Helga, who was, in ever way except appearance, the twin sister Gwen never had. Rowena was Morgana as she should have been.

That was why Merlin had changed his name and gotten a job as Godric's servant. It probably wasn't healthy, but he couldn't resist. It was almost like old times.

At the moment, it was like the old times where he'd almost been eaten by big creepy things. Merlin wasn't sure why Pendragons plus magic always equaled unpleasant snakes being summoned, but he wished they would get over it. This thing was big.

"Basilisk!" Godric yelled.

No, a basilisk is a relatively small creature with four legs and a poisonous bite. This was a very, very big creature with no legs and a poisonous stare AND bite. He wasn't sure what this was, but it wasn't a basilisk. Godric probably wouldn't appreciate a zoology lesson right now, though.

The snake was gaining on them. "Just kill it already!"

"Can't! Lost my wand!"

Merlin rolled his eyes. Wizards these days! Wands should be a supplement, not a crutch. Certainly not a necessity.

"Mura iacte!" he shouted.

The wall collapsed behind them, trapping the snake in the caverns beneath the school.

Merlin leaned against the wall. Oh, good. They weren't too far from the kitchens. He was starving.

Godric was staring at him. Anna poked her head out from the kitchen door. "Oh, hello, Father. I take it we're moving again?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to the Harry Potter Wikia, Hogwarts was founded in 990 AD . . . which is around the time I've set Camelot in this fic. While I think Camelot certainly could have used a Hogwarts, it certainly didn't have one, so I've played around with the timeline.
> 
> As for the basilisk thing: When I originally wrote this, for some reason I was thinking the monster from "Love in the Time of Dragons" was a basilisk. Turns out it was a manticore. I liked Merlin's thought process though, so I kept it in and assumed facing a basilisk was one of those stories he's accumulated over the years.


	15. Forest in England, Six Months Later

It was a shame Salazar had obviously inherited the Pendragon proclivity for madness. He used to be quite likable.

Now he was dying. Whatever he had done, it was painful to see him like this. Like watching Uther die all over again.

"Godric?" he asked weakly.

"No," Merlin said, stepping out of the trees. "Just me."

Recognition flashed in his eyes. "You. Merlin."

A parody of a smile crossed his face. "Congratulations. You were the only one to guess."

"My son . . . He's in danger." His voice was fading. "Promise me you'll save him. Promise me you won't let my line die out."

"I promise."

Salazar raised his wand. The orange cord of the unbreakable vow slid out.

Merlin took a deep breath and agreed.

He didn't regret it. Not until he couldn't kill Tom Riddle. Not until his son died. Not until he was forced to work to save only the dragons when the entire world was at risk. Not until Morgana rose again as Bellatrix Lestrange.

Of course, his other children were free to do as they liked. If Balinor wanted to stop the Death Eaters from getting their hands on some dragon eggs, than it was practically his duty to do so, after all. If Gwaine searched the world over for a few minor magical trinkets and made sure they got into the right hands - well, who was to say Riddle hadn't stored the diadem there in the first place? Harry's theory could've been right.

If Freya wanted to call herself Sybil and hide her prophecies behind gibberish, then she wouldn't have been the first one in the family to be eccentric. If Anna wanted to protect the Order from the shadows, if Hunith's spies brought in information all over England, and she personally watched over as many muggles as she could - Well, there were restrictions. They could not fight on the front lines, not with the unbreakable vow so close to blood magic and with Merlin's blood in their veins.

But then, Merlin's family had never really been one for front line fighting anyway.

And, of course, Leon didn't share his blood. So if he wanted to join the Battle of Hogwarts, well, in all that chaos, who was going to notice one more man?

Even if he was wielding a sword.


	16. London, 2010-2012

_2010_

Sherlock closed his eyes. It was the only way to stop the the constant stream of data, unless you counted Billy. Professor Morgan, some distant relation of the family, had given it to him, promising it would help. Strangely enough, it did.

Then again, a lot was strange about Professor Morgan. For instance, the easily deduced fact that he was over a thousand years old.

His new roommate was odd too. Based off his experience with Professor Morgan's side of the family and his deductions today, John Watson had a fair bit of magic, although he didn't appear to have realized it.

Sherlock wondered if he should mention the fact. Probably best not to. That sort could be touchy about their secrets.

 

_2012_

"You want me to what?" Merlin felt cold.

"Help me fake my death. Surely a man of your talents can do something so relatively simple."

_Uther cried over Arthur's limp body while his troll wife tried to pull him away . . ._

Once it might have been funny. Now it just felt like his chest was full of broken glass.

"Are you mad?" he shouted. "Have you even considered how John's going to feel?"

"It's for John that I'm doing it." His voice was collected, almost bored.

That wasn't good enough. Merlin could barely breathe.

He grabbed Sherlock by the collar of his jacket and threw him against the wall with more than human strength. "No. No, you don't get it, do you? This will destroy him. You don't do that to people. You don't lie about something like this. You don't leave a friend like that to grieve if you have any other choice, it's monstrous."

"Professor - "

"Shut up!" he screamed. The glass bottles of Sherlock's experiment rattled and exploded. "Shut up. You don't get to say anything else. I'm done with you." He stormed towards the door.

"Please," he whispered.

Merlin froze. Sherlock never begged. "Why should I?" he demanded quietly.

"Because you're right," Sherlock said slowly, picking himself up from where he'd slid along the wall. "You're right. Losing someone - "

"A friend."

"A friend for good. No one should have to do that if they don't have to. And I can't lose John, Professor. I can't. This isn't about the game, this is about how Moriarty plays it. Please. Help me save John."

"Do you have any of Moriarty's hair?"

"What?"

"His hair. His blood. Anything."

"No."

"So I can't just kill him for you. Not until it's too late, and he's got snipers ready to fire." He sighed. "Fine. Fine. But if you wait one moment longer than is absolutely necessary to come back, I swear I'll kill you myself."

 

Leon took off on the bicycle. Sherlock jumped. Merlin stayed hidden behind the ambulance.

It was a tricky piece of magic. He needed to slow the fall, provide the illusion Sherlock was falling normally, and produce a deathlike sleep.

He enjoyed the challenge. He didn't enjoy watching John's reaction.

It reminded him of his own.


	17. Lake of Avalon, Fast Approaching Future Date

The call was from Sherlock and thus urgent. Merlin picked up immediately.

The news wasn't good. London had fallen.

After two world wars, he had little hope as he looked out across the lake. He started to run on, already yelling for Aithusa, Anna, and Leon, when he saw it.

Movement.

 

The years had passed slowly. He had watched the world change from his watery bed, keeping a particular eye on those he'd left behind. One by one, most of them had joined him.

One hadn't.

Now, the time for waiting was over. Gwen smiled beside him. Both Elyans reached for swords. Gwaine clapped Percival on the back. 

King Arthur rose from the lake.

Most of the dignity of the moment was lost when he collapsed under Merlin's flying tackle hug.

Albion was under attack. The greatest of Camelot, united once more, were ready to answer her call.

Destiny felt very smug. She exerted herself a touch to hear what the two pieces of the reunited coin were saying. A new legend was playing out, after all. It would need to be recorded.

"You prat! And you yelled at me for sleeping in! Do you have any idea how long it's been?"

" _I_ do. There aren't any taverns in Avalon, mate. It was awful!"

"Shut up, Gwaine. Er, Merlin? Could you let go now?"

"Oops. Sorry."

"Idiot." The word was said fondly.

Destiny withdrew. On second thought, perhaps it would be better to make something up.


End file.
